


You Got Yourself A Deal

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [221]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Cold War, Emotions Clouding Good Judgement, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-09 02:02:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: “I am not here to seduce you,” the beautiful man in Steve’s bed says--which means, oh yeah, he is.





	You Got Yourself A Deal

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Cold War.

“I am not here to seduce you,” the beautiful man in Steve’s bed says--which means, oh yeah, he is.

“Really? Huh.” Steve slides out of his jacket, makes sure the guy get a good look at his holster. “‘Cause generally, when I get in between somebody’s sheets naked, it’s not for a picnic.”

The man wrinkles his nose. “Pik-nik? What is this?”

“You know,” Steve says, popping open his cuffs, “blanket spread out on the grass, a basket lunch, a bottle of wine in the great outdoors with someone you like? That’s a picnic.”

“Ah, you are speaking of _пикник_!”

“I’ll have to take your word for it. But you’re not here for that, are you?”

The guy shakes his dark head, the smooth waves of his hair kissing his shoulders, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “No. No lunch tonight.”

“Well, then. You see my predicament. What am I supposed to think when I walk in my suite--mine, mind you, not yours--and find you tucked up in my bed?”

“I wanted to speak with you.”

Steve bends down to pick up his shoes and makes a show of setting them in the closet. Lets the naked guy squirm. A beat or two of quiet, and then:

“You could’ve done that downstairs, couldn’t you? You were boring holes in my head from the roulette table for half the night.”

When he swings his gaze back, the man’s biting his lip. He can’t tell if it’s a come on or not. “I could not,” the guy says. “There were many who would have seen.”

“I hate to tell you this, _милая_ , but anybody with two eyes had to notice. You weren’t exactly stealthy.”

The man’s pretty face falls a little. “Ah. Well. That is too bad.”

He shifts under the sheets, a nervous twitch of his hips that Steve finds endearing. God, he must’ve drunk more than he thought. “What’s done is done. If they wanted to keep you away from me, they’d have found a way, believe me. Which still doesn’t explain why you felt the need to wait for me quite like that.”

“It does not, does it?”

Steve chuckles and reaches for his tie, loosens the bow knot with one jerk. “No. It does not.”

“Ah.”

“So, why don’t we start with the easy questions first?”

“Yes?”

“Yes.” Steve pops the first two button on his shirt and perches at the end of the bed, just out of reach. He’s still wearing his weapon. “Who are you?”

“You mean, my name?”

“I do.”

The man’s eyes--pale and impossibly blue--sweep up to find his. “Джеймс.”

“Can you do that for me in English?"

“Eh, is something like _James_.”

He has to repeat it twice before Steve’s sure he’s got it. “James?”

“Mmm, _da_. Yes.”

Steve holds out a hand. “I’m Steve Rogers.”

The man’s grip is firm, his lock on Steve’s gaze even more so. “Yes,” he says. “I know.”

“What are you doing in my bed, James?”

“We need to talk.”

“So you keep saying.” He hasn’t let go of James’ hand. James hasn’t let go of him.  “Isn’t that what we’re doing?”

James’s mouth softens to a pout. His eyes are terribly blue. “About important things.”

“We can do that. In fact, I’m all for it.”

“Good. I am also.”

“Great,” Steve says. “So where do we start?” He lets go of the man’s hand and reaches for his face, brushes the long, soft waves from his cheeks. “Here?”

“Here,” James says, “I am thinking that when I pick lock to get in, I see maids at end of hall and I think: what if they come to clean here?"

“Unlikely at one o’clock in the morning,” Steve says. “But all right.”

“So I think, I will get into his bed so that if they come in, they will see me.” James smiles at him, a small, hot thing. “And they will think I am yours and that is ok that I came in and they will leave me alone.”

Steve runs his thumb along the man’s jaw, watches those sharp eyes flutter. “And just like that, you’ll get me all to yourself.”

“Mmm. Yes.”

“What do you want with me, James?”

That gets him a laugh, a warm sound he can almost feel in his chest. “Is a different answer now than before.”

“How’s that? You weren’t going to kill me or something, were you?” Steve leans in, pitches a breath over James’s face. “I mean, if you were, I’d appreciate if you’d tell me. Us being on a first name basis now and all that.”

“No.” A soft grip on his shoulder, an exquisitely soft little hum. “To talk only. Promise. Your friend, Mr. Stark? He sends news with me. I promise to tell you myself.”

Steve’s hands fly to the guy’s head and clutch at that long, silky hair; tug at it until James has no choice but to lean back. “Tony? You’ve talked to him?”

“ _Da_.”

“So he’s ok?”

“He is like that for now. For how much longer, he is not sure. And neither am I.”

“You have to tell me. Where is he?”

There’s a sweep of movement in his periphery and then James’s hands--strong hands, broad and solid--are cupping his face, a gesture that feels strangely tender. “He asked me to show you. Tomorrow. I will take, yes?”

“Why should I believe you?”

“Tsk,” James says, “not a matter of should. Is a matter of choice.” He smiles, his eyes running up to Steve’s like a wave. “You will choose yes or no. That is your business. That is what I came to say.”

“We can go now.”

“No, we can’t. In the morning only or not at all.”

“Why should I believe you?” Steve says again, a plea this time, a ward against his foolish seeking heart. Tony’s been missing three months, ever since things went south in Budapest--a simple pick up from a dead drop gone horribly wrong. They’d gotten a tip he’d been seen in Monaco and wonder of wonders, Fury had agreed to let him come here alone and this is their first tangible lead, albeit in the form of a beautiful, naked man who’s broken into his hotel room and climbed into his bed and convinced his lonely cock to get hard just with his voice and the feel of his skin and the gentle way he’s touching Steve, like Tony does, as if he’s made of alabaster and glass.

“His ring is on the nightstand,” James says. “The one he wears over his heart. You should look.”

“You could’ve taken it from him.”

“I could have done this, yes. But there is a message that comes with it, too. Would you hear?”

“Yes,” Steve says. “ _Yes_.”

James traces the curve of Steve’s mouth, the shape of his plea. “He says: I love you, Stevie, you enormous pain in my ass. You should have stopped looking for me weeks ago.”

“No. Never.”

But James isn’t done. “He says, you are the love of my life and a stubborn son of a bitch and god help me, if you do not follow this man tomorrow and find me, Steven Grant Rogers, I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

How Tony Stark’s sarcasm and spark translate so neat from this Russian, Steve has no earthly idea, but there they are, spilled out on the coverlet, and it’s been so long since he’s heard Tony’s voice or touched him or even saw his damnable face that it’s like being bewitched, hearing Tony’s message from this stranger’s mouth.

Nobody knows that they're lovers, nobody, not even Fury--though Steve suspects he may have deliberately turned a blind eye. It was part of the reason, though, they rarely worked together; temptation in the field, when they should have been focused, could only be goddamn bad news. Maybe that's what had happened in Budapest; three months on and Steve still wasn't sure. The whole business had happened too fast. All he knows now, though, all he cares about, is that this man he's holding is a living link between he and Tony, and oh christ, christ--

 _Tony_ , Steve’s heart cries.

 _Tony_! his mind shouts.

“Tony,” he whispers halfway into a kiss, “Oh, god.”

He’s drunk and exhausted and refueled by sudden hope and James is so lovely beneath him, willing and writhing and whining and finally, when his belly is splattered with come and Steve is inside of him, swelling, he begs, first in scattered English and then in full-throated Russian, his nails digging rivers into the curve of Steve’s back.

“ _больше_ ,” he cries.

“Harder,” he shouts.

“Yes,” he whispers against Steve’s cheek as Steve bites his shoulder and fills him, fucks him, moans Tony’s name in his ear and shudders again. “Yes, _дорогая_. All right.”

“You said you weren’t here to seduce me,” Steve says later, when they’ve curled in each other’s arms clean.

“It was the truth.”

“Was, eh?”

James leans up on an elbow and kisses him, a small thing, warm and sweet. “Tomorrow I take you to him, this man who loves you. You will see him again, Steve. He’s told me so much about you.”

There’s a tingle in Steve’s head, a warning, and he makes a note of it; reaches up and brushes the hair from James’s face, damp now with heat. “Do I want to know why you’re helping us?”

“Does it matter?”

“Tomorrow? It might.”

James takes another kiss, another, then a third, with more ardor each time. “Yes. But tonight?”

“Eh. I suppose not.”

The Russian smiles, a sneaky curve that Steve can’t help but chase. “Then, for tonight, we will say no more about it, yes?”

“ _Da_ ,” Steve says, his fingers sliding greedily down James’s side, slipping in over his hip, closing over that part of him that was eager again, velvet steel. “You got yourself a deal.”


End file.
